


for now and ever more

by poindextears



Series: Cromwell Cinematic Universe [7]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Universe, Cromwell The Stuffed Lobster, Established Relationship, Fluff, Future Fic, Life After College, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Minor Chowder/Farmer, NHL Player Chris "Chowder" Chow, Nursey in grad school, Other People’s Weddings, Post-Canon, Soft Boys, Texting, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:34:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25612927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poindextears/pseuds/poindextears
Summary: Five times Dex thinks about marrying Nursey, and the one time he actually asks Nursey to marry him.Or: the Cromwell Cinematic Universe engagement fic I've been promising you all since the beginning of time.
Relationships: Derek "Nursey" Nurse/William "Dex" Poindexter
Series: Cromwell Cinematic Universe [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622695
Comments: 16
Kudos: 223





	for now and ever more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flipmeforward](https://archiveofourown.org/users/flipmeforward/gifts).



> Like it says, for Caroline, because I've been promising her this fic for far too long and I don't deserve her patience, LMAO. But also, for the greater population of AO3, because this was a fun CCU future fic to write in general. Remember that one ficlet where I had a random line about Dex and Nursey getting engaged? ([It was this one.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199399/chapters/58375156)) Now you get to actually see how that happens. Except this fic, being a 5+1, takes place over the course of, like, three years.
> 
> THANK YOU to Jude, Smol, and Via for being such great beta readers on this one! You guys rock. <3
> 
> You'll notice some scenes set in the summer of 2020. There's no pandemic in the CCU. Because I said so.  
> Also, Cromwell is actually in this one, so feast your eyes on my boy.

_i._

_june 2017_

Will doesn’t really like weddings.

It’s not that he has anything against, like, the institution of marriage. It’s more the whole party and ceremony thing he’s not super fond of. Yeah, weddings usually involve free, good food, and now that Will is 21, alcohol, too— but that’s pretty much where the advantages end. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been to so many of his cousins’ weddings over the past five or so years, and will no doubt have more to go to in the future. Or maybe it’s the whole church thing, because even though being home for the summer means he favors going to Mass over breaking Ma’s uber-religious heart, sitting in a church listening to the readings and vows about the unbreakable bond between One Man And One Woman Only has really started to make him uncomfortable.

Or maybe it’s just _this_ wedding that he isn’t a fan of. That could very well be the case, given that this— his brother’s wedding— is the first wedding he’s ever been on ‘the inside’ for. From the moment Drew proposed to his longtime girlfriend to today, the day the long planning process culminates in a ceremony and a party, this wedding has been a primary focus in his entire family’s lives. Will, as maybe reluctantly-chosen best man, has witnessed a lot of this planning firsthand, even _with_ being away at college. (Reluctantly chosen, he theorizes, because he knows Drew would have rather asked his best friend from work, but Ma would have killed him if he hadn’t asked his brother to be his best man.)

Which… anyway. The point is. The planning process was sort of intense, even from a standpoint of not being one of the two people getting married. But now, Will has finally made it to Drew’s wedding day, and the ceremony is over, and he’s stuck being boring at a table by himself, praying nobody tries to get him out on the dance floor.

Drew is dancing. His fiancée-turned-wife, Kelly, is dancing. Ma and Pa _were_ dancing, but seem to have taken a break, and are now talking to some relative of Kelly’s. A whole slew of Will’s cousins and other relatives are dancing. He’s pretty sure the Poindexter-Murphy family alone makes up at least sixty percent of the guest list today.

Look… don’t get him wrong. He’s happy for his brother. It’s a beautiful summer day, and this hotel patio overlooks a beach that’s calling his name, and everything has gone smoothly. He just… doesn’t like weddings all that much.

He pulls his tie to adjust it, and heaves out a small breath. The family table, where his assigned seat is, is a little too close to the dance floor and the crowd for his liking. If one more relative asks if he’s gotten a girlfriend yet, he might launch himself into the ocean.

Okay. That’s dramatic. Derek must be rubbing off on him.

His phone buzzes from the pocket of his dress pants; it was in his jacket before he hung it on the back of his chair at least an hour ago. He draws it out to check, and— it’s like thinking of him caused a summons— his heart flutters at the name on the screen.

Which is pathetic. But, well.

It’s been an interesting start to the summer.

_iMessage_

_5:43 PM_

_Derek sent a picture_

_Derek: live footage of me_

_Derek: im bored af_

Will checks, in a hurry, to be sure nobody who could foreseeably spy on his phone screen is around, and then opens the picture.

It’s just a selfie, from an angle he’s come to know pretty well— Derek in his room, surrounded by aesthetically coordinated bedding, flashing a peace sign at the camera. His hair is tied off into his green headscarf thing, which Derek has explained he uses on “hashtag self care days,” and he’s in a tank top that leaves little to the imagination in terms of arm tattoos.

With the way his face heats, seeing this picture, Will figures he must be the color of the red velvet wedding cake he consumed no less than an hour ago.

_You liked a picture_

_You removed a reaction from a picture_

_You loved a picture_

_Me: Hi_

Smooth, Will. Incredibly smooth.

He snaps a badly angled picture of himself from the chest up, looking up and away from the camera as he does so. He realizes, reviewing the picture, that his tie is crooked from where he adjusted it, but it’s sending before he can do anything about it.

It’s not like Derek will care.

_You sent a picture_

_Derek loved a picture_

_Derek: aaaaaaAAAAAAAAAA_

_Derek: babe you gotta warn me before you just send stuff like that_

_Me: …_

_Me: It’s jsut a bad selfie?_

_Derek: PFF ya okay ‘bad’ selfie_

_Derek: bad selfie my ass_

_Derek: i am a lucky man ;)_

_Me: Your a dork._

_Me: DONT correct my grammar_

_Derek: relax you compsci gay i wasn’t going to_

_Derek: lol_

_Derek: anyway_

_Derek: how’s the wedding???_

Will takes a momentary break to look up from his phone. How _is_ the wedding? The wedding is fine. Really, it is. He’s kind of glad the chaos of Poindexter-family wedding planning is over, and as he surveys the tent, he sees a lot of his loved ones having a good time. But… it’s just…

There are other places he’d rather be. Other people he’d rather be with.

_Me: It’s pretty god._

_Me: Good_

_Me: It’s also pretty god_

_Me: Irish catholic wedding and all_

_Derek laughed at a message_

He takes a pause, tapping his dress shoe on the stone patio beneath his feet. He kind of feels like he’s texting his middle-school crush, and not his actual boyfriend, with the way he’s trying to figure out the perfect thing to say.

Well. In his defense. Derek has only actually been his boyfriend for a week. Six days, actually. They sort of did things in reverse— they talked about loving each other, and started planning a visit to New York (Will has no idea yet how he’ll get that past Ma and Pa), and bridged topics like kissing and hand-holding and all that sappy jazz Will swore he’d never be soft about— they did all that, before the official establishment of the boyfriend thing. It happened because on FaceTime this past Monday morning, Derek offhandedly referred to him as his boyfriend, and Will’s brain stopped functioning. _I’m your boyfriend???_

_Aren’t we dating?_

_I… guess I didn’t know?_

_Will, we’ve been sending mushy texts since school got out._

_I didn’t know that meant we’re dating._

_Oh. Well, uh. Do you not want to be dating?_

_No! No— I— sorry, yeah. I do want to be dating. I just didn’t know if I should ask._

He guesses it’s pretty fitting, for him and Derek, that it took them so long to get their shit together even _after_ finally talking about their feelings.

But whatever. He has a boyfriend now. A boyfriend who happens to be Derek Malik Nurse.

He’s a perfectly functional person, who does not freak out over things like this.

_Me: Wuold rather b elsewhere though_

_Derek: oh?_

_Derek: like where?_

_Shit_. He’s still working on doing the sappy thing. It really isn’t his style.

But he likes Derek. Loves him. And he deserves to know he’s thinking of him.

_Me: With you_

_Derek: ohhh i see :D_

_Me: You’re sucha dork_

_Derek: it’s one of my many lovely qualities_

_Derek: but hey_

_Derek: by the way_

_Derek: i’d love to be with you right now too_

He gets that fluttering sensation again, and puts his phone down to take a deep breath. He needs to, well… chill. One vaguely sappy text from his boyfriend should not be enough to make his ears burn like this.

And yet.

_Me: Party isn’t a party without you_

_God_ , that’s a lame fucking response. He might as well be engaging in bro-speak.

_Me: Sorry that was stupid_

_Derek: no it wasn’t_

_Derek: in the words of kesha,_

_Derek: the party don’t start till i walk in_

“Who ya texting?”

Will nearly jumps out of his skin, as the unexpected visitor from behind puts their hands on his shoulders. “Ah!” he cries, like a scaredy little bitch, and drops his phone to the ground.

The perpetrator— his cousin, Liv— laughs her ass off as she rounds to the front side of his chair. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, as she sits down in the next chair at the table to face him. “I didn’t mean to scare you _that_ much.”

“It’s okay,” he replies, bending over to retrieve his phone, which, thank God, hasn’t spiderwebbed from the fall; the last thing he can afford right now is a new phone when he just got this one last summer. He sleeps the display and pockets it in a hurry. “I just didn’t hear you come up at all.”

Liv wags her eyebrows. “I’m like a hawk in the night.”

She sure is, and he tries to shake the remnant of panic off. Because, look, if there’s one relative he’s pretty sure would be okay should they accidentally find out about his curly-haired, green-eyed secret, it’s Liv. She just finished her freshman year studying photography at UVM in peak Vermont hippie country, and she’s gotten into multiple arguments with Uncle John and Uncle Rob at family gatherings in which the topic of discussion is the fact that she votes Democrat. So it’s not _Liv_ that worries him— although her parents, Uncle Tommy and Aunt Alice, definitely do, and even her brother Eamon makes him nervous. It’s more that he was caught completely off-guard by a family member coming up behind him, and Liv _could_ have been anyone. Who knows what she saw on his phone screen.

Hiding something from his family like this is turning out to be _so_ fucking hard, but he really has to be more careful.

Liv crosses her legs, and studies him like she’s a talk show host and he’s being interviewed. “Enjoying the party?” She’s in a spring green dress, and super high heels; she’s already tall, but long ago declared that height insecurity would not stop her from wearing her favorite shoes.

He wonders if he’s as red as he feels. The mere thought of someone in his family finding out about Derek is enough to send his entire brain into panic. Derek might call it gay panic. He calls it Catholic guilt. “I guess,” he replies, to Liv’s point, and then adds, “Are you?”

Liv flashes a grin. “You know it.”

His phone buzzes in his pocket— Derek again, no doubt. He notes that Liv has, thank God, not circled back to the _who are you texting_ thread of conversation. He leans an elbow on the table and looks out across the dance floor; Drew and a couple of his academy buddies are busting a move to ‘Come On Eileen’. He wonders how many drinks in Drew is. He can’t remember the last time he saw him go this many consecutive hours without being grumpy about something.

He should cut his brother some slack, though. It’s his literal wedding day.

“Can’t believe he’s actually married,” he remarks, maybe to Liv or maybe just to say it out loud.

“I know, right?” She pauses a second to grin again, then elbows in his direction. “Think you’ll be next?”

He almost chokes on nothing at all. “Me?” he echoes, like he hasn’t been thinking about the concept of his own wedding all day, like it’s an unthinkable idea. “Uh… I _highly_ doubt it.”

“Ooh, you’re blushing.” Liv rubs her hands together gleefully. “Deny and deny, but your ears tell the truth.”

He frowns and covers his ears. “I’m not getting _married_ anytime soon, Liv. I’m not even—” He stops himself before he can say _I’m not even dating_ , because despite all the lying to his parents surrounding Derek _already_ , less than a month into their relationship, this feels like a lie that would be unfair. Instead, he tells Liv, “I’m busy,” which is not untrue.

“That’s what they all say,” Liv sings. “You wait, Billy. One day you’ll be breaking it down on the dance floor just like Drew.”

He snorts, looking back to Drew’s awful dance moves. His are by no means any better, but at least he doesn’t try them out in public. “Sure,” he tells Liv, to appease her. “Right. Whatever you say.”

Liv pauses a second, twirling a loose strand of her hair around her pointer finger. Bright Poindexter red, it’s in the kind of updo that looks messy on purpose. “I’m getting married in the fall,” she tells him. “At peak foliage. There will be pumpkins.”

“Nice.” He loves the fall, actually, and can’t blame her for this. Before Derek, before this, the thought of his own wedding has barely ever crossed his mind— but he knows, somehow, as Liv says this, that he’d also want to get married at that time of year.

What’s scary, and blush-inducing, is that he’s pretty sure Derek would, too.

But he can’t think about that about someone he’s been dating for pretty much a week, even if he’s been in love with him for the better part of two years.

“I’ll be there,” he adds, regarding Liv’s wedding, and she rolls her eyes, still smiling.

“Yeah, you better be,” she says. “Someone’s gotta build my elaborate trellis.”

“Jesus,” he mutters. “You’ve put, like, _thought_ into this.”

She shrugs a little. “Having your first boyfriend will do that to you.”

She can say that again.

Come On Eileen ends, and transitions directly into Dancing Queen. “ _Oh my God_ ,” Liv cries, jumping up out of her seat like it’s been springloaded. “This is my song.”

Will smiles a little. He waves to her, as she goes. “Have fun,” he says, and she promises she will. It’s reminiscent of the way Louis gets super amped to play ABBA at kegsters. He guesses that’s part of Louis’ brand, as a Swedish person who loves music.

He takes a long, deep breath, and then checks for bystanders before he pulls his phone out to peek at it again.

_Derek: i’m not necessarily encouraging you to be antisocial at your brother’s wedding BUT_

_Derek: should it strike your fancy_

_Derek: i am doing nothing and could talk on the phone_

_Derek: if you can slip away_

_Derek: but no pressure_

He glances, wistfully, out toward the beach beyond the hotel deck. With its rocky shore and sapphire water, it’s calling his name. It’s not like he’d be the only person out there; there are a handful of wedding guests hanging out by the shore.

Will looks around again. During his scan of the party, he catches Ma’s eye, and she flashes him a smile, but, thank God, does not try to rope him into any awkward relative conversation. He takes that as a sign and stands up, weaving his way through tables until he reaches the edge of the tent. He makes his way down the path toward the beach, and when the sound of Dancing Queen is far off enough that he’d be able to hear himself think, he dials and holds his phone to his ear.

“Babe!” Derek’s voice is the sweetest sound, picking up on the first ring. “Hi,” he says. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too,” he replies, in a low voice. “One second; I have to get down to the beach.”

Once there, he finds a rock to station himself on, tucked into a corner against a cliff wall, a little ways from any of the other people. “I don’t know how long I have,” he mumbles into the phone. “But I was… like, really bored up there.”

Derek laughs a little. “I don’t wanna get you in trouble.”

Will eyes the tent, now a ways away, and shakes his head. “I won’t get in trouble,” he replies, then settles onto his rock and lets off a long breath. “So… how are you?”

With the sound of the party distant, and the crashing waves much closer, he talks to him for long enough to pass the night a little easier.

He does not think about what it would be like to marry Derek. Not even a little.

*

_ii._

_april 2018_

Graduation is six weeks away.

Will is trying not to think too hard about it, but it’s getting harder. With playoffs wrapped up, and theses turned in, and grad requirements met, it’s barreling towards him at full speed, and he’s powerless to slow the approach. He knows that to acknowledge this is to sound like a stereotypical senior testimony for admissions advertising, but he feels like he barely just showed up on campus to move into his freshman dorm, and now— now it’s about to be over.

 _I hate endings_ , Chowder keeps saying, hugging him and Derek extra long for no reason other than they’re his best friends. Derek keeps telling Chowder to chill, that they still have more than a month of school left, not to rush it along. Will’s internal monologue lately consists mostly of screaming.

He’s not ready for actual adult life to begin.

Which is why his first instinct is to immediately threaten Derek’s life when he brings graduation up out of nowhere, one warm Sunday night in April.

They’re in the bungalow. A little earlier tonight, they were playing on Chowder’s Switch, or, well, he and Chowder were playing, and Derek was providing color commentary. But Chowder went to bed upstairs, and Derek stayed. They’re wrapped up together on the small mattress; Derek’s head is pressed against his shoulder, and Will has his arm around him. Neither of them is sleeping, but they haven’t been talking much, so Derek sounds louder than he actually is when he pipes up.

“Forty-two days,” he mumbles, against Will’s neck.

Will bats him lightly on the shoulder. “Der, I will fucking kill you.”

Rather than raise drama about the fact that his life was just threatened, Derek groans. “I never said I was _happy_ about it,” he replies. “I was just stating the obvious.”

“I’ll still kill you,” Will says. “I’ll rat you out to Chowder.”

Chowder is sort of like the Talking About Graduation police. Just last night, he witnessed Chowder jump over a table at a kegster to yell at Rhodey, because he said something about the seniors almost being done.

Derek, with his face still tucked into Will’s shoulder, groans again in response. “I’m not ready.”

That makes two of them.

Sure, there are, like, _things_ to look forward to in the future. Will’s already secured a steady job, which, for him, was always the most terrifying part of thinking about life after college. What’s more immediately exciting than his actual job, though, is the fact that he and Derek are moving to Boston together. Derek is starting grad school at Harvard, straight to the Ph.D. program in literature, because he’s a fucking literary wizard and Will is so proud of him.

And Will’s job is at the same place he interned this semester, in Brookline. Hence: Boston together. They actually secured the apartment, with Derek’s parents’ help, this past week, which is probably why Derek is talking about graduation right now.

He’s technically lived with him for two years now, but there’s something about the thought of living with Derek in an apartment _as his partner_ that makes Will warm inside.

“Think of it this way,” he offers, as an attempt at consolation. “You get to be stuck with me 24/7.”

Derek laughs a little, squeezes him around the waist, and murmurs, “I’m already stuck with you 24/7.”

“That’s true,” Will says. He grins at the ceiling of his room. “Surprised you haven’t dumped me yet because of it.”

Derek tips his head up to face him. His stubble scratches Will’s chin, and even in a tank-top and a pair of Will’s gym shorts, he’s more gorgeous than any human being has business being.

And he’s _Will’s_.

He has no idea what he did to deserve this.

“LOL,” Derek says, out loud, because even as a future English Ph.D. student, he retains the audacity to say abbreviations out loud. “Fat chance I’m ever dumping you,” he adds.

Will’s face warms. He isn’t sure if the statement holds as much weight for Derek as it does for him, but he hopes it does.

Because _fat chance I’m ever dumping you_ implies that Derek doesn’t plan to dump him. Which implies, like, being life partners. Which implies forever together. And Will just— he wants that. He wants that so badly he doesn’t even have words for it.

Derek was always the words guy.

“Same here,” he says, which is sort of useless on its own, but Derek smiles and kisses his jaw, and he knows he’s made the right choice.

“I love you,” Derek hums, to accentuate it.

“I love you, too,” he replies, without even thinking about it.

“And I guess you’re right,” he continues, scooting up a little so their faces rest together on the pillow. He hooks his arm around Will’s torso and adds, “Like, about our first apartment being a bright side.”

 _First_ apartment. That resonates even more than the comment about dumping him. First apartment implies there will be more than one apartment. Or living space. In general.

“First apartment,” Will echoes, because so what. With almost a year together under their belt, he is long past second-guessing himself when it comes to talking to Derek about the future.

Derek’s smile, or the ghost of it, lingers on his face, but his eyes look much more serious, all of a sudden. “Yeah,” he says, not skipping a beat. “First apartment.”

Will takes a long breath, looking back at him across the pillow. He can test these waters, right? “Does that… mean there will be more?”

Derek blinks, takes a pause, and then asks, “Do you want there to be?”

He nods, first slowly, and then more, as he sees Derek’s smile grow. “Ayuh,” he says. “I— of course I do, yeah.”

“Hmmm.” Derek wears almost exactly the same grin he always used to when he needled at Will, the smile that used to anger him for little to no reason— but right now, across the pillow, it’s the best sight Will has ever seen. “Well, good, ‘cause I’ll have you know, I would like to have several apartments with you.” He arches an eyebrow to add, “Maybe even a _house_.”

“A house,” Will repeats, as calm as he can manage, like they aren’t talking about his wildest, sappiest dream. “With me.”

Derek chuckles a little, presses a soft kiss to his lips, and says, “Yeah, with _you_ , William Jilliam. Who else?”

He should not be surprised and/or gay panicking over the thought of sharing a life with his boyfriend, with whom he has been in love for years, and yet here he is. Maybe it’s just the lack of solid far-future planning they’ve done. The near future, they’ve planned plenty, but they haven’t quite bridged such big topics yet as buying a house together.

“I dunno,” he replies, after a second, and does not elaborate, because apparently, he has forgotten how to use the basic English language.

Derek scoots a little closer to him, bringing a warm hand to rest at his cheek, and searches his face. “You know,” he says, “I was serious. About not dumping you. Like— obviously you knew neither of us was ‘dumping’ the other, but I meant, like— about this being—”

“Long term,” Will interrupts, and Derek nods, which is a relief.

“Yeah,” he replies. “Really long term.”

There’s a pause between them, and Will hesitates. He wonders if Derek is thinking the same thing he is. They’ve known, ever since they started last summer, that their relationship is serious, that they both see it lasting. But he so badly just wants to ask about what’s on his mind _now_ , what that all pertains to, what feels like the natural step in the progression of a long-term relationship, a few years down the road, maybe.

And then Derek reads his mind. “Like,” he says, “we could get married.”

Will nearly melts. He’s suddenly grateful for the fact that the lighting in the room right now is low, because he knows he’s going to turn so red during this conversation. It fills his imagination with more ideas than he even knows how to keep track of, and it’s not like he hasn’t thought of those ideas before— he’s just never talked about them with Derek. “I want that,” he says, which is an upfront thing to say, but he’s working on being explicit about his feelings and intentions. Less repression. More… this.

“I want that, too,” Derek says, and he’s back to that serious, sincere expression. He traces a line on Will’s cheek, and he knows somehow that it’s a freckle connect-the-dots game. Derek is a big fan of those. “Just so you know.”

Will laughs, or really, more like _giggles_ , like they are six years old, and Derek is his playground crush who has just informed him that he’s cute. Here, in his arms, life sometimes— even often— feels that carefree. But they’re not six. They’re twenty-two. They’re about to graduate from college.

And they’re talking about getting married.

Will kisses him, to break the stunt in his ability to speak. Derek kisses back, and it turns long, and he’ll absolutely never tire of these nights with him in the bungalow. He’s grown so used to it.

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” Derek whispers, when they pause to breathe.

Will meets his eyes, in the low light, and doesn’t care now how red his ears or cheeks are. “Me, too.”

Derek kisses him again, and he melts into his embrace, and everything is calm.

So much is about to end, and after that, so much is about to start. Will has a lot to do, a lot to fear, and a lot to look forward to.

But he couldn’t think of any other person he’d want by his side, any other way he’d want to face life after Samwell.

Tonight, though, they still have the Haus, still have the bungalow, still have teammates sleeping in the floors over their heads. Tonight, he has internship in the morning, and class tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, they have Samwell, and he’s not so keen on letting that pass by so quickly.

So tonight, the future can wait.

*

_iii._

_october 2019_

When Chowder calls, Derek isn’t home.

He’s at the Harvard library late, shoulders deep in his second-year dissertation research. Will knows he’s been stressed, so it’s no surprise when he gets a mid-afternoon text that lets him know Derek will be home kind of late tonight. On his way home from work, he picks up falafel and shawarma at that one Middle Eastern takeout place they like, and puts Derek’s aside for when he gets home.

The apartment is quiet, but Will doesn’t mind. He does some laundry, and then eats his own takeout dinner. It’s good; it always is, from that place. He’s just finished with it when Chowder calls.

His phone is across the small kitchen, on the counter, and he sees Chowder’s contact photo lighting up the screen, even though he’s pretty sure his phone has been on permanent vibrate since 2012.

He gets up, walks there, and grabs his phone to answer the call. It’s 3:00 California time, which would be far from the weirdest time of day Chowder has placed a random call to either him or Derek.

Will leans against the counter. “Hello?”

“Dex!” He last talked to Chowder in a FaceTime call with Derek last weekend. Their texting is more frequent, but they get to talk to him on the phone about once a week. “Hi, dude!”

He grins at the friendly, familiar voice. “What’s up, C?”

“Oh, I’m just hanging out at home,” Chowder says. “Sorry if I caught you in the middle of something. I just realized it’s, like, dinnertime there.”

“No, you’re good; don’t worry,” he says. “I just finished eating.”

“Oh. Cool.” Chowder pauses. “Is Nursey home too?”

“No; he’s at the library.” He waits a second, then, because it’s Chowder, and he probably knows this anyway, adds, “He’s, like… stressed-out with school.”

“Aw,” Chowder mumbles. “Yeah, his texts have sounded kinda stressed lately.”

“He’s okay, though,” Will amends. “Just… has a lot on his plate.”

There’s a smile in Chowder’s voice. “That’s likely when you’re a frickin’ genius who decides to do their doctorate in two years.”

“Tell me about it.” Will sighs, then smiles to add, “He’s doing so well, though.”

Chowder’s smile-voice intensifies. “You must be really proud of him.”

“I couldn’t be _more_ proud,” he replies, but he’s said that before. He said it when Derek finished his first book, when he got into Harvard, when he signed with his literary agent. He knows he’ll prove himself wrong, grow even prouder, and say it again.

But he doesn’t want to use his limited time on the phone with Chowder to harp on what Chowder already knows— that he loves Derek, that he’s proud of him. Especially not on the night before Chowder’s season starts. Speaking of which… “So, uh, big game tomorrow, huh?”

“ _Huge_ game, dude,” Chowder laughs. His home opener is against the Aces, tomorrow at 10 PM Eastern. He and Derek have agreed that they’re going to stay up for at least some of it. They did last year, for his NHL debut on opening night. “Parson doesn’t stand a chance against me,” Chowder says. “Or— that’s what I’m telling myself, at least.”

Will grins. “You’ve beat Parson before, C.” Four times last season, actually.

“True,” Chowder replies, then does the verbal equivalent of a shrug. “Well— it’ll be fun! I’m so excited. I’ve _missed_ actual games.”

“I’ve missed _hockey_ ,” he says. The last time he played was a pickup game with the Haus 2.0 crew and company, after Jack and Bitty’s wedding in June. They drove from Providence to Samwell, and Shitty somehow broke them into Faber. Chowder was there, and so were a bunch of Will’s other former teammates. “And I miss watching it,” he adds.

“Well, you’re in luck there,” Chowder says. “At least on the watching it part.”

“I know, right?” He fucking loves hockey season. “How’s life otherwise? How’s Cait?”

“She’s great!” Chowder cires. “Ha, that rhymes.” Will chuckles, and Chowder continues, “She is, though. She’s, like, trying to decide on her bridesmaid dress colors right now.”

“Huh.” Chowder and Farmer got engaged his summer, and their save-the-date is next July, a big California wedding he’ll have to save up to travel for. He honestly has no idea how bridesmaid dress planning works, but he figures he should ask. “What color does she want?”

“She’s trying to decide between blue or teal.” Chowder pauses, then remarks, “My vote goes for teal, but I think I might be… slightly biased.”

That is the most Chris Chow thing he has ever heard in his life, and it makes him laugh. “I support you, dude.”

“Thank you.” Chowder pauses. “No, but— y’know, I never realized how much _stuff_ brides have to think about! Like, for me, it’s just— a suit, y’know? But Cait has so much _wardrobe_ to plan, and then there’s all the decoration stuff, which— don’t get me wrong, I wanna help, but I feel like she has, like, a better eye for that stuff than me?”

“That’s definitely true,” Will says, still kind of laughing, and recalling Chowder’s interior design skills as demonstrated by his Haus bedroom. “If you had your way, it’d be a shark-themed wedding.”

“Hey!” Chowder sounds fake-offended. “A shark-themed wedding would be _cool_.”

“I feel like,” he says, “if it’s _your_ wedding, then it’s automatically shark-themed.”

“I can own that,” Chowder says. “It’s my brand and my legacy.”

“I support you.”

“Thanks, Dex.” Chowder laughs, and he takes a second before he adds, “You’re lucky you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Worry about what?” he says. “Shark-themed weddings?”

“ _Pff_ — _Dex_ , no,” he says. “I mean, like, bride stuff. I think Cait is enjoying it, but it sounds so _complicated_ to me. You and Nursey— you won’t have that. Y’know?”

 _You and Nursey_. It’s definitely not the first time Chowder has talked about him and Derek getting married, but it still makes his stomach flutter. Marriage, he and Derek both know, is their goal, but engagement comes first, and though Will has thought about it, even that hasn’t happened yet. Life is happening at their pace, and it’s perfect for both of them.

“Dex?” He realizes that Chowder’s comment has sent him into a thought tangent so long he hasn’t actually responded to him. “You still there?”

“Ayuh— sorry, I’m right here.” He rubs his forehead. _Get it together._ “Just thinking.”

A little mischief creeps into Chowder’s tone. “About you and Nursey getting married?”

“C,” he laughs, all warm in the face. “We’re not even engaged yet.”

“Oh, but you will be,” Chowder declares. “I can see it now. You get down on one knee at his Harvard graduation—”

“Oh, _God_ ,” he says, “I am _not_ proposing to him in front of _that_ many people.”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right; that kinda does sound not like you guys.” Chowder pauses, like he’s brainstorming other ideas. “But— wait, Dex— does that mean you’ve thought about it?”

He chuckles, looking at his socks on the hardwood apartment floor, and nods. “I mean— of course I’ve _thought_ about it,” he says. “I just haven’t planned it out yet. Like, I don’t even— I don’t have a ring. I won’t be able to afford one until at least next year.”

“Ohohoho.” Chowder laughs maniacally. “I know that tone. It’s the ‘Dex is on a mission’ voice. You really _have_ thought about this.”

“C,” he whispers, even though he’s alone, “Please, don’t say anything to Derek—”

“ _Jeez_ , Dex, of course I won’t!” he cries. “What kind of a best friend do you think I am?”

“No, no, I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think you would. That was just— like, a general precaution.”

“Oh, I feel you,” Chowder says. “I was so scared Cait was gonna find out about my plan.”

Will knows this, because Chowder spent multiple phone calls last summer stressing about the fact that he thought Cait’s little sister was going to slip up and say something before he got the chance to pop the question by surprise. In the end, it turned out perfect. Their engagement photos broke the hockey Internet, because the hockey Internet loves Sharks goaltender Chris Chow.

“You should tell me, though,” Chowder adds. “What you’ve been thinking.”

He’s quiet for a second; he still feels very warm inside. It’s only sort of recently that more specific thoughts about marrying Derek have started taking shape, the proposal coming first. He thinks maybe it’s all the marriage talk among their friends lately. Between Jack and Bitty’s huge, beautiful wedding, and Chowder and Cait getting engaged, plus Shitty and Lardo still not actually being engaged but periodically threatening to randomly get a courthouse wedding (“For tax benefits, of course,’ Lardo will say, while Shitty has his arm around her, “and to piss our parents off.”)— there’s a lot on his mind.

When he looks at Derek, he sees forever looking back at him. Once he can afford a ring, and once he’s more confident about his plan, he can start working on forever.

For the planning part, this is a good place to start, he thinks.

“After he’s done school,” he tells Chowder. “This summer.”

*

_iv._

_december 2019_

New Year’s in New York is becoming a tradition.

This is Will’s third year in a row doing it; his first was senior year at Samwell, when Derek and his parents invited him for his second-ever visit to the city, and he went down to spend a few days there after Christmas. Last year, he and Derek did Christmas up in Maine and then New Year’s with the Nurses, and this year, they’ve followed the same formula.

In Derek’s words, but also the words of his younger sister, Maya, rule number one of being in New York City on New Year’s Eve is to avoid Times Square like the fucking plague. That first year, he and Derek got the brownstone to themselves that night, because his parents went out to a fancy party and Maya was with her friends. Last year, they were all in, and this year, well— Will actually has no idea what they’re doing _tonight_ , but right _now_ , it’s about fifteen hours to midnight, and Derek and Maya are out exchanging a sweater from Christmas. _It’s my dad’s parents,_ Derek explained, earlier this morning. _They always get me the same tacky sweater from Saks, and it’s never my size._

Which… first world problems. But a sweater that doesn’t fit doesn’t serve a lot of a purpose, even if it _is_ from a fancy store.

So he and Maya are out, which… leaves Will in the brownstone with Eva and Theo Nurse.

Two years ago, or even one year ago, he thinks the prospect of being left alone with Derek’s parents for more than ten minutes would have been absolutely terrifying. Though Eva and Theo welcomed him into their home from the very start, that first time he visited Derek over the summer before senior year at Samwell, they’re— well, they’re intimidating. You always want to impress your partner’s parents, and it’s kind of scary to think about that when they’re extremely successful and insanely wealthy.

Back during life before his and Derek’s relationship, when he was still trying to convince himself he would never be friends with someone like Derek Nurse, he was sure that his parents would be stuck-up types, the kind of rich people who are impossible to be around because they’re so snobby and judgemental. Even when he showed up at their brownstone that summer, he was so scared of their judgement, worried they’d look down on him, a poor kid from blue-collar Maine.

And then they didn’t. They were kind, and welcoming, and yeah, still super rich, but their wealth had no bearing on their personalities at all.

Will has done a lot of unlearning preconceived judgement.

And so, this morning, while Derek and Maya are out, he’s here— in the Nurses’ brownstone, having a late breakfast with Eva and Theo.

They ask him about work, because they do that all the time, but they’ve ventured toward a conversation about the insanity that is the ball drop crowd. It’s easygoing, and he isn’t stressed. Not really. He was actually kind of hoping for an opportunity like this to arise, over this trip down to New York, because he wants to talk to them about something.

He just has to muster up the courage to do so.

“I just can’t see the appeal of it,” Eva is saying, while she spreads vegetable cream cheese onto a bagel somebody picked up from the Nurses’ go-to bagel place yesterday. Will is having an onion one, and it’s good, actually. “Twelve hours in the same spot—” Eva grimaces. “I mean, people wear _diapers_ …”

“Sometimes more than twelve hours,” Theo points out, raising his pointer finger like the stereotypical geek in a TV show who is about to provide an ‘interesting factoid.’ “I’ve heard of people arriving _now_ and staying for midnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure of it,” Eva replies, with a small chuckle. “I guess some people enjoy it.”

Will shakes his head. He knows this is technically a New Yorker conversation, but he thinks the ball drop is a weird institution, too. “I don’t get it at all.”

Eva shakes her head in the direction of the window, like the mere institution of tourism confuses her, and honestly, from growing up in Bar Harbor, he can relate to that sentiment.

He looks between them, as that thread of conversation sort of seems to die a little. It isn’t awkward, not by a longshot, but the moment of quiet gives another possible conversation the opportunity to spring up in his mind. He’s been thinking so many times about this kind of conversation— when, where, and how he’ll have it. It’s kind of hard to believe that he’s about to attempt it right now.

But there’s no time like the present, and besides, he has no idea when, after this, he’ll next be alone with Eva and Theo. At least, he has no idea when that’ll happen before this conversation would no longer make sense.

 _God_. He has to just bite the bullet. He looks between them and takes a deep breath.

Theo seems to notice something is up, because he folds his arms— curious, not standoffish— and asks, “What’s on your mind, Will?”

Okay. It’s definitely time.

He can do this.

“Actually,” he says, as evenly as he can muster, “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something. Both of you, I mean.”

Eva leans forward in her seat, folding her hands on the table, her bagel momentarily forgotten. “Of course you can,” she says. “Are you alright?”

“Oh— I’m great; yes, I’m fine.” He wonders if they know what he’s going to say, or if they’ve seen this coming. “It’s, um… it’s about Derek, actually.”

He knows the way he phrases this is kind of weird, and that if his tone were different, Eva and Theo might read it as cause for concern. They’re just as attentive about Derek’s mental health and his being in a good place as Will has come to be, even though they live so far from him now.

But right now, they don’t look concerned— which is a relief, because they don’t need to be. The only one who needs to be concerned is himself, because his heart is near beating out of his chest at the prospect of saying these words to Derek’s parents, telling them what he’s been thinking for months—

He has to just do it.

“What about him?” Eva asks.

“Well, um… he’ll be done with school soon.” _Jesus_ , he’s awful at setting up big conversations, apparently. They _know_ he’s finishing his PhD program this spring. Will has to get his shit together. “And I, uh— I’ve been thinking a lot about the future.”

Theo nods. Eva looks like she’s about to smile, but wants him to finish before she does. Maybe they _do_ know what’s coming.

“I’m…” He takes a long, deep breath. _Just say it, Will. They like you. They won’t reject you._ “I’m thinking,” he finally manages to get out, looking between them both, “or, um, planning— I want to ask Derek to marry me.”

It’s like letting out a breath you’ve been holding for a really long time, and, thank _Christ_ , Eva and Theo receive it well. Eva does smile now, and Theo right along with her.

“I know it’s a little, uh, old-fashioned,” he continues, and the words come a little easier now, “but growing up in my family, we _were_ kind of old-fashioned, so I’d, um— I was wondering if I could ask for your blessing.” He pauses, and realizes he wants to say more. “I love him,” he says, “I love him a lot, and I’ve always, well— I’ve known for a long time that I would want to get married eventually? I was thinking I’d wait to propose until after he finishes at Harvard. I haven’t bought a ring yet, but with your blessing, I—”

“Will,” Eva says, effectively ending his slightly embarrassing ramble. He comes to a halt, and takes a deep breath, while she puts her hand on top of Theo’s on the table.

And then, like they share a brain the same way Ma and Pa do, Theo finishes her thought. “Of course you have our blessing,” he says, and the relief that washes over Will is indescribable. “We always had a feeling you and Derek would be in it for the long term.”

He smiles, and knows he’s red in the face. He doesn’t care. “So did I.”

“He’s told us before,” Theo remarks, with a funny grin that kind of looks like the expression he uses right before he’s about to embarrass Derek in an extremely dad way. “That he was going to marry you.”

Something warm and soft fills Will’s chest. “He has?” He and Derek have, by now, talked a pretty decent amount about eventually getting married, or at least the concept of it without details. But to know that Derek has said this to his parents is another thing entirely, something so soft he doesn’t even know how to respond.

“He very much has,” Eva says, with a wise nod. “You know,” she adds, and now _she_ , too, has that expression on her face. It’s the _I’m a parent and I’m going to embarrass my child to their significant other_ expression. “He likes to act cool, but he’s a big sap deep down, don’t you think?”

Will laughs out loud. “Oh, I definitely think so,” he replies. “I won’t tell him you said that, though.”

“It’ll be our little secret,” she says, still smiling.

Will’s heart is still pounding a little, but now it’s less for stress reasons as it is for joy. This conversation scared him, every time in the past that he thought about having it— but now it’s done. Now he has his parents’ blessing, and he’s going to ask Derek to marry him.

Next, he just has to figure out how.

*

_v._

_may 2020_

“Derek.”

Will takes a deep breath. Their bedroom in the apartment is quiet, and he hopes it’s a good enough space for what he’s doing. He looks dead-on at his audience, who’s sitting on the edge of the mattress.

“I love you very much,” he begins, in an even voice. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

He goes to draw the small, velvet box out of his pocket, and then realizes that the box isn’t even currently _in_ his pocket. It’s on the nightstand, unearthed from its buried spot in a shoebox on his side of the closet he knows Derek would never look in. He lunges for the box, then sighs and pops it open.

“I’m no good at this,” he announces, and when he looks up to consult his audience, the beady, black, utterly indifferent eyes of a plush lobster stare back at him. “Sorry you had to see that one.”

He takes a seat on the edge of the bed next to Cromwell, patting him just lightly on the top of his head. “I’m trying here, buddy,” he remarks, which Cromwell knows. Cromwell has been watching him ‘try’ to do this engagement speech thing for the past thirty minutes. With Derek safely out of the apartment, doing a practice presentation of his doctoral defense with some classmates from Harvard, Will had to capitalize on the opportunity. Cromwell is a better audience than no audience at all, and he’s served, in the past, as witness to Will being a sorry excuse for a functional human being.

The ring, at least, is nice. He studies it in the little box, and knows this much. He’s been in possession of this ring for four entire days, since the moment he was able to set enough aside into the ring fund to realize that he’d accumulated enough to buy the one he had his eye on. This past Friday morning, when his paycheck came in, he used his lunch break at work to go down to the jewelry store in Back Bay where Derek got his Frozen Four championship ring fixed after he accidentally lost one of the little studs in it. It’s where Will first started ring shopping, months ago when he went to drop the Frozen Four ring off.

It was a process, the selection. He didn’t want to get something that flashy, because he was worried about it clashing with Derek’s clothes on a regular basis. But it still had to be nice, had to be sophisticated, because it’s Derek, and he always looks put-together, still dresses like the rich prep school kid he once was.

So Will settled on this one. It’s a simple, silver band, but with two gold lines through it. The color of the metal, he thinks, will compliment Derek’s skin.

That was an interesting conversation with the jewelry store lady. She was _so_ much more knowledgeable about rings than he was. Come to think of it, he should have called Eva while he was looking, but Eva wound up liking the ring, so there was no loss.

 _Who are you shopping for?_ the jewelry store lady asked him. _A girlfriend or wife?_

 _Oh— no, uh, my boyfriend, actually._ It was easier to say it then, than it would have been two or three years ago. He still sort of got worried she’d be judgey, but she wasn’t.

_Oh, perfect! How can I help you find the perfect piece for him?_

In the end, it was easier than he thought it would be. So now he’s here. Sitting in their room. Practicing his engagement speech.

“He’ll like it, right?” he asks, looking down to Cromwell. He shows him the ring. “I think it’s his style. I think it’ll look nice on him.”

Cromwell says nothing, and Will sighs. He’s twenty-four years old, and he’s talking to a stuffed animal. Well, not stuffed animal. Stuffed crustacean. Somehow, that doesn’t make it any better.

Cromwell has always been a good listener, though. That’s why he’s using him as his speech practice audience. He’s said that Derek is the first person he came out to, but that’s not entirely true. Well— okay, it’s true that Derek is the first _person_ he came out to. But when he told Derek he was gay, that spring afternoon that seems like decades ago, sitting on the bottom bunk in their failed joint room in the Haus— that wasn’t the first time he said the words _I’m gay_ out loud. Two months prior, locked in the bungalow and alone with his thoughts, he tested them out on Cromwell.

And because he’s Cromwell, there was no rejection. No hurt. No catastrophic meltdown of the very fabric of the universe. Cromwell just sat there and made lobster faces at him, and that was that. All his life, Cromwell’s beady-eyed indifference has been a source of comfort, a constant that never changes. No matter what happens, no matter what he does, or who he is, Cromwell is still his trusty, old friend.

He chooses to ignore— or at least to brush aside— the fact that he refers to a stuffed lobster as his ‘trusty, old friend’, being a grown-ass, college-graduated adult— with a full-time job and an apartment— who will hopefully be engaged soon.

Hopefully.

He closes the box, gets up from the mattress, and walks back over to his and Derek’s closet, where he kneels, pushing aside Derek’s high tops and Birkenstocks next to his own worn work boots and sneakers. The shoebox he’s been using as a hiding spot is at the bottom of a small stack of similar boxes, one containing Derek’s shiniest dress shoes, another with a bunch of ties inside, several of them empty altogether. He stows the ring box under tissue paper in the box at the bottom, then tidies up the spot so it looks like he hasn’t been there, before walking back over to sit on the bed again.

He takes a long, deep breath in his nose, and when he lets it out, it comes out sharper than he wants it to.

He isn’t stressed. He just.

“I want to get this right,” he tells Cromwell, pulling one socked foot up onto the mattress and hugging his knee to his chest. “I— I _hope_ I have no reason to worry about him saying yes, but that’s not even— that’s not even why I’m so preoccupied about it.”

Cromwell is still facing the wall, because that’s where he placed him to practice his speech to him. He turns him to face his seated spot on the mattress now, and then, after a second of deliberating, just puts him up on one of their pillows.

“It’s more…” he adds, trying to piece together exactly what has him so unconfident. He takes a deep breath again. “Derek loves words,” he says, which Cromwell knows, but helps make his point, so it feels relevant. “And he’s so _good_ with them, y’know? So when I ask him to marry me… I want to— I want to make it good. I want to be— like, romantic, I guess, but also just— eloquent?” Even the word _eloquent_ sounds weird in his own voice, like his vocal cords themselves know it’s not a descriptor meant for him. “It’s the most important question I’ve ever asked him,” he says. “I just want to make it memorable, for him. You know what I mean?”

Like always, Cromwell presents no judgement. He just listens. Quietly. Lobster-like.

“I know he’s the words guy, but…” Will shakes his head. He tugs at an ear absentmindedly. “Well, that’s kind of just it, actually. He’s the _words_ guy. He’s about to have a PhD in being the words guy.” He shrugs, looks to Cromwell again, and says, “I figure the least I can do is give him an actual speech and not just pop the question out of nowhere.”

It won’t _really_ be ‘out of nowhere’. He has, by now, some semblance of a real plan. He’s going to propose next month, when, after Derek’s defense and graduation, they go down to visit his family in New York for a few days. He knows all of this sort of relies on Derek passing his dissertation defense, but if there’s one thing Will is pretty confident about, it’s that by this time next month, Derek will be a doctor. For two years, he’s been the first witness to all that Derek is pouring into his dissertation, all the work he’s done that leads up to his defense in two weeks.

Derek can do this. And once he’s done it, Will is going to propose.

It’s a good plan. A practical plan. A plan that makes him warm inside.

Now if only he could figure out what the hell he’s going to _say_.

He has four weeks to think about it, which isn’t enough time.

He lays all the way back, so he’s perpendicular to the actual mattress, and puts both hands over his face. “Wish me luck, buddy,” he mutters, to Cromwell. “Wish me luck.”

*

_+i._

_june 2020_

Central Park is Will’s favorite part of New York City.

It was one of the first parts Derek showed him, actually, when he first came to visit him the summer before senior year. _I think it’ll speak to your outdoorsy, rugged heart_ , twenty-one-year-old Derek said, with a big grin, leading him by the hand down the sidewalk in his neighborhood. They packed a picnic lunch that day; it was Will’s first full day there, after he spent his first night. And it wound up to be such a _good_ day, just sitting with him among so many more trees than he thought he would find in the heart of New York, having lunch and then talking and sitting close together while Derek wrote and leaned against his shoulder. The park was so much less intimidating than the concrete jungle that lay beyond it. Will felt a lot more at home that day, but maybe that was only because Derek was sitting beside him.

 _I love you_ , he said to him, that day, back when those words were still new for them.

Derek kissed him, lightly, in the middle of that completely public park, and Will was so at ease that he didn’t think for a second to care that much.

 _I love you too,_ Derek said.

He was so in love that day, and today, three years later, he’s just as in love. Even more, actually.

So this time, it’s _his_ idea.

“We could get takeout for lunch,” he suggests, in the brownstone, after Eva and Theo have left for work. Maya is doing an internship in DC this summer, but she’s flying in tonight to spend the weekend. They’ll be with the Nurses all of tomorrow and Sunday, before they head home to Boston, but today, they have the day in the city to themselves. “Eat it in the park.”

“The park,” Derek echoes, with a laugh, sitting across the marble counter from him. “Are you trying to be a hip New Yorker?”

“I’ll never even be a hip Bostonian,” Will replies.

Derek laughs again, shrugs both tattooed arms. “You’re pretty hip to me,” he says, “and I think that’s what matters here.”

Will’s face feels warm. In a tank top and his green hat, Derek is beautiful, sort of _glowing_ , even, with the weight of dissertation stress finally off of his shoulders. It’s been six days since his graduation ceremony. He looked just as happy, just as handsome, in his robes last Saturday as he does right now across this fancy kitchen countertop.

“I would like that, though,” Derek adds, creeping his hand across the space between them to lace his fingers in Will’s. “Getting lunch and going there.”

Will grins. He may be internally screaming, and knows that won’t let up until he does what he’s setting out to do today, but looking at Derek just sitting here in the kitchen, it doesn’t seem so scary for a second.

They wind up in Central Park a little past noon. It’s a beautiful, sunny summer day in the city, and though the park is crowded, that’s not really anything new. Armed with takeout boxes from Derek’s favorite Hawaiian place, they walk hand-in-hand down to the waterfront of the big pond, and sit in the shade of a willow tree.

Will has the ring in his pocket.

 _Don’t freak out_ , says his internal monologue, as they eat lunch. _Don’t freak out_. He’d like to imagine that between the two of them, freaking out is more Derek’s thing, but the truth is it’s really both of their thing, just in different circumstances. Will gets stressed about situations, and Derek gets stressed because his brain is shitty to him like that.

This… this is a situation. And Will just needs it to go well. He needs to not mess up, to make this as perfect for Derek as he possibly can. Weeks of trying to practice a speech on Cromwell when Derek isn’t home have gone by in what feels like vain. He’s no better now with words than he was a month ago. He’s always going to be Will— the computer guy, the hands-on guy, the STEM person to Derek’s humanities person.

And maybe, he reasons, that’s enough. But you can’t just get down on one knee out of nowhere.

In the end, it happens like this: they finish lunch. Derek is looking out over the pond, the sunlight catching him in a stray beam through the willow, with the world’s most handsome and contented smile on his face. When he catches Will looking at him, he flashes a grin. “Hey, babe.”

“Hi.” Will leans across the blanket, and takes hold of his hand to squeeze tight. He won’t think right now about just how quickly his heart is beating.

He won’t do this just sitting here, though. He needs them both to be standing. So he nods toward the glistening surface of the pond, a few yards down from them, and asks, “Do you want to go for a walk?”

“Along the water?” Derek asks. There’s just the slightest breeze today, and his curls ruffle under his hat. Will nods, and Derek smiles. “Sure, yeah. That sounds nice.”

So they get up, and get rid of their takeout containers in a nearby trash, leaving no trace they were even under the tree at all. Hand-in-hand, they walk along the edge of the pond, crossing paths occasionally with a passer-by— but Will couldn’t feel more like they’re in their own little world. Like the time is right, and the wind is blowing his way, or some folk tale-sounding thing like that. He did grow up hearing constant legends about the sea.

This isn’t the sea. But with Derek at his side, any place is home.

Maybe that’s what he’s been trying to figure out how to say, this whole time.

“So, babe,” Derek is saying. “I got an email from Jayda this morning.”

“Oh?” Jayda is Derek’s literary agent; he signed with her the summer after they graduated from Samwell. She sold his first book for publication last year, but it doesn’t come out until this fall. Yet another reason, among the millions, Will thinks, there are to be proud of him. “What’d she say?”

A gentle smile crosses Derek’s face. “Well, she was, like— congratulating me on graduation, but also, she wants to say hi while I’m in town.”

“You should see her,” Will replies, earnestly. Derek and Jayda have, like, a work relationship, but they’re also sort of friends. They have similar tastes in reading, and she, too, is a published author. “Maybe you could get coffee tomorrow? Or something?”

“Maybe,” Derek says, with a nod. “I thought it was nice of her to reach out, ch’know?”

“For sure.” Will squeezes his hand, and Derek squeezes right back, and it’s one of so many ways they’ve learned, over the past three years, to talk without even really talking.

 _God_ , Will is so in love with him.

He thinks about that all the time, but right now, the strength of the sentiment sort of feels like a sign.

So he stops walking, and Derek stops, too. He reaches for his other hand, and takes both of them. “I’m proud of you,” he tells him, which he must have said about a hundred times over the past week, but it’s just as true right now as it was the first moment he saw him after he walked the stage at Harvard last weekend.

Derek really _is_ glowing. His skin shines in the sun, and his hat brings out his eyes, and the complete _lack_ of anxiety on that face— such a difference, from that stress he always carried in the months leading up to his dissertation defense— Will is so grateful to see him like this now. “You’re the best, babe,” Derek mumbles, and squeezes both his hands.

Will takes a deep breath, just looks at him for a second. He remembers, last fall, telling Chowder on the phone that he couldn’t be more proud of him. Looking at him, right now, in the summer daylight, three years under their belts and who knows how many more to come, he knows he was wrong that day.

He’ll get prouder every day. More in love every day, too.

“Derek,” he starts, and then this is happening here, and now, and there’s no going back.

“What’s up, my love?” Derek sways on his feet a little. He looks unsuspecting. This is probably a good thing. Will wanted to surprise him at least a little. “You look preoccupied.”

It’s almost exactly what Eva said to him, the day he asked for the Nurses’ blessing.

Like mother, like son.

“I love you,” he says, and suddenly, all the failed Cromwell speeches are so far from his mind he barely thinks. There’s no need to plan this. He knows exactly what to say.

Derek grins brighter than the sun. “I love you, too.”

He just has to speak from the heart.

“I’m… no good with words, Der,” Will says. “And I don’t think I ever will be. But I think I’m okay with that, because— because _you_ are, and you know me, and you take me as I am.” Derek is still smiling at him, and his heart is going to beat out of his chest, but he knows for certain that whatever this feeling is, it isn’t nervous.

“I may not be good with words,” he continues, letting go of his hands, “but when I look at you, I’m home, and I haven’t been able to think about a future without you in it since we were seniors in college.” He takes a deep breath. He can tell Derek is starting to sense something is up now, but he’ll only be in suspense a second longer, because Will _knows_ what to say now. He knows how to do this.

“I know that’s never changing,” he says, reaching into his pocket, “and we’ve come a really long way, you and me. That’s all I want, when I think about the future, Der. You and me.”

“So, uh…” Will draws the ring out of his pocket, and drops to a knee, and Derek _jumps_ so hard he literally almost falls over. Will worries for a second he’ll have to lunge to keep him from falling, but he recovers.

“ _Oh,_ my _God_ , Will,” he laughs, with a hand at his mouth and a smile in his eyes. “ _Shut up_.”

Will shrugs, with a grin that feels so easy, so natural, he has no idea how he was ever worried about this, and pops open the ring box. “Der, will you marry me?”

“ _Will_ ,” Derek repeats, still laughing, maybe crying a little too. “You romantic motherfucker. I love you so much.”

Will raises his eyebrows hopefully. “Is that a—?”

“ _Yes_ —” He wipes his eyes and laughs again. “Holy shit, _yes_ , of course I’ll marry you.”

Will laughs, now, too, and he _cannot_ believe he was stressed about this. He slides the ring onto Derek’s finger, and not only was jewelry store lady right about the style, it’s also a perfect fit. He gets off his knee in a hurry, and Derek barrels into him in the tightest, warmest, closest hug, laughing into his shoulder. “You got me _so good_ ,” he says. “I was _not_ suspecting—”

“Was it okay?” Will asks. “As a surprise?”

When they pull back from the hug, Derek takes his face in his hands. His eyes are glassy, and Will feels a little like he might choke up, too, but Derek is still beaming from ear to ear. “Of _course_ it was okay,” he breathes, and then, in a kiss that’s long and soft and sweet, Derek Nurse becomes his fiancé.

*

_iMessage_

_Group: You, Derek, Chowder_

_Derek sent a photo to the group_

_Me: He said yes :-)_

_Chowder loved a photo_

_Chowder: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Chowder: GUYS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Chowder: OMFG CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!!!!!_

_Derek loved a message_

_Chowder: IM SO EXCITED ???!?!!!!!!!!!!_

_Chowder: I LOVE YOU GUYS_

_Derek: we love you too c_

_Me: ^^^^_

_Chowder: CAN I TELL CAIT_

_Chowder: IM GONA TELL CAIT_

_Chowder: SHE SAYS CONGRATS_

_Me: Thanks cait!_

_Derek: the future mrs chow!!!!!!_

_Chowder: GUYS IM CRYING_

_Chowder: I’m so happy for yoU!!!!!!!!!!_

_Chowder: Can I be in your wedding???_

_Derek: c_

_Derek: OBVIOUSLY you will be in our wedding_

_Chowder: Yay!!!!!!!!!!_

_Chowder: When is it going to be????_

_Derek: we literally just got engaged five minutes ago_

_Derek: but yeah save the date_

_Chowder laughed at a message_

_Chowder: Can I call you guys?!??_

_Me: Go ahaed!_

_Chowder: Be prepared Im gonna yell_

_Derek: yelling is welcomed_

_Chowder: SWEET_

_Incoming Call from Chowder_

**Author's Note:**

> [Come hang out](https://sincerelyreidburke.tumblr.com/) on tumblr! With [love finds you](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22089940/chapters/52718095) finished, I'm having a grand old time writing things all over the place. Thank you very much for reading!


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